


Drugged

by marzichan



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU, Gen, Superstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzichan/pseuds/marzichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake is forced to make Dirk his henchman in order to protect him. Superstuck AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drugged

**Author's Note:**

> Superstuck is a Homestuck AU based in a world where supervillains and superheroes are a common sight. In this AU, Jake is both a supervillain called General Terror and the son of the infamous Lord English. You can find out more by visiting [this page.](http://generalterror.tumblr.com/faq) This story was originally posted [here](http://generalterror.tumblr.com/post/16900289463/you-refused-to-let-him-kill-your-nemesis-its) on Tumblr.

You refused to let him kill your nemesis.

It’s strange, really, how sick you felt when he first lifted Dirk up by his neck only, one beefy green fist locked around his throat. You cried out a hurried protest, horror flaring in your green eyes as you ran over. You hadn’t expected your father to come to town, let alone take on your rival personally. Apparently he was tired of you seeming like a fool in front of this boy, and he was here to take care of the problem for you.

 _No._ Not Dirk Strider. For all that he was an annoying pain in your ass, he gave you something to strive to beat, not to mention you still owe him for never actually sending you to jail. He would only ever stop your crimes, beat you up, and then send you home a little worse for wear… but free. In terms of heroic nemeses, you could have one that is a lot worse! And you don’t want a new one, you want to keep fighting the Tailorbird.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t talk your father into just leaving him alone. You tried, dear God, you did try. But one terrifying glare from your father’s flashing eyes told you clear enough that he wasn’t going to go for it.

So you swallowed, nervously, and tried a different track. Despite his hero status, The Tailorbird is really quite clever, and destroying him would be a waste of potential genius. Add to that his personal skills, and wouldn’t it be better to corrupt him into a henchman rather than kill him? This was the logic you attempted to sway your father with, and, surprisingly, he paused, looking thoughtful.

He conceded that you _are_ lacking quality henchman (you would bristle for both the sake of Otto and Equius, but you know that your two looks paltry compared to the team of fifteen he started out with) and thus he would be willing to pardon this pesky hero provided that you do indeed turn him into a loyal henchman.

Which is how you made it to your current situation.

“Good heavens, Tailorbird, the least you could do is make this easy for me.” You mumble as he glares up at you, orange eyes bared when you removed his goggles and tossed them out of the plane. Did he think you weren’t aware that he hid a tracking device into the frame? “If it weren’t for me, you would be splattered across the city streets by now. You’re lucky that I managed to persuade my father that it was better to keep you alive and transform you into prime henchman material rather than destroy you.”

You test the strength of his bonds for the umpteenth time, pulling them tighter so he has no chance of escape. The shiny rectangle of duct tape still firmly traps his lips so he can’t get snippy or say that he would rather die than serve you. You don’t need that kind of discouragement right now.

You look down at your nemesis, completely helpless and alive only at your behest, and your green eyes soften slightly. You touch his hair gently, brushing your gloved fingers against the gelled strands.

“Forgive me, Strider. I wish there was another way.” He doesn’t seem to believe you. He keeps glaring at you like you’re just as monstrous as your father.

You sigh, sitting down beside him. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me win once in awhile, you know.” It’s too late to suggest that now. Your father blatantly doesn’t trust you to get the job done, so he chartered a private plane and ordered one of his top henchmen to make sure you arrive at the main English manor with your new captive still in tow. He’s holding you entirely accountable for the Tailorbird’s behavior, so if you don’t turn Dirk into a proper lackey… he’ll punish you severely and then kill Dirk anyway. Your stomach sinks at the very thought.

“Goddamn it, I’m a busy guy and here I am trapped on a slow as hell plane babysitting English’s brat again and this dumb orange friend and this fucking coffee machine isn’t. Fucking. Working! Work, damn you! Work!” Itchy pipes up from the other end of the cabin, still fiddling with the coffee machine. He already offered to make you a cup but you declined, knowing that the last thing you need right now is to be jittery on top of all your other problems.

You lean over your trapped nemesis, pulling an egg-sized capsule out of your pocket. You brewed this up before Itchy dragged you out of your lair, well aware that you could never trust Dirk to just ‘play along’ and pretend to be your henchman. No, his pride is too formidable for that. Taking orders from you is simply too humiliating for Dirk Strider to deal with.

At least without this little concoction you have here.

You pull the cap off the end of the device, revealing a sterilized needle. Tailorbird looks at you in shock and then anger, his brow furrowing as if trying to tell you that there’s no fucking way you’re going to stick that in him, no way. Too bad you don’t have a choice. He tries to cringe away from you as you get closer, breathing rate quickening. You’re forced to hold him down while you administer the injection anyway by plunging in the needle and pressing the top of the capsule. You whisper the word ‘sorry’ repeatedly as his eyes eventually glaze over and flutter shut.

You sit next to him for the rest of the plane ride, making small talk with Itchy when necessary and occasionally stroking the Tailorbird’s shoulder reassuringly as your drug (hopefully) does its job.

He wakes up just as you arrive at your destination: a private hangar under your father’s control. You hastily remove the duct tape from his lips, searching anxiously for any sign that your concoction was a success. He seems dazed, disorientated, and when you place your hand against his cheek he actually leans into the touch. That’s enough to almost make you yank back in surprise, but instead you make soothing noises and loosen his bonds. There’s no point keeping him tied up now anyway. Either it worked and he’s now yours to command, or it didn’t and he’ll die soon after setting foot off the plane. You really hope its the former.

“Dirk…” Wait, shoot, you shouldn’t be calling him by his first name. “Strider? How are you feeling?”

“Like I have the worst fucking headache known to man.” His words don’t have their usual bite, and the way he looks at you is certainly different. You finish untying his hands and he sits up, rubbing his wrists.

“Don’t worry, Strider.” You gently take his hands. “I’ll get you something for it once we reach the manor. Everything’s going to be all right now. You’ll see.” He stares at you with subdued orange eyes, and you have to wonder if he even understands that you’re trying to save him, not use him.

“Oh Jesus H. Christ, get a room you two! I don’t need to see the kid I helped raise getting all… MUSHY with the Tailordick or whatever his name is. What the hell is his name again, anyway? Fuck it, I don’t even care.” Itchy grouches loudly, causing you to flush. You hastily get to your feet, drawing him up with you.

“Right, Uncle Itchy! I guess we should go ahead and disembark.” You squeeze his hands, just once, before releasing them. He watches you with none of his normal exasperation or scorn, simply waiting for your directions until you nudge him toward the door.

“Whatever you say, _Master_ Jake.” There’s an almost-sarcastic undertone to his voice that has you biting your lower lip.

After you’ve convinced your dad he’s loyal and brainwashed, after you’ve taken him home and kept him safe until the drug finally wears off… you hope that he’ll someday find a way to forgive you. Which is silly, because his hate is what you should be after.

But even him hating you is better than him dying.


End file.
